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The kids and I arrived home this afternoon, after 2 weeks in NC.  Dad's memorial service went really well (still so weird to type that).  The kids have grown and changed quite immensely, and I think I've missed a hundred little stories about them I would have wanted to record...and that is what this blog was intended for...but it just feels wrong to write about little laughs and seem like things are back to normal, because they aren't.  We are all doing really well considering, but it is a strange road to be on.  I think for a bit of blog closure I will copy what I said at the service, and then eventually get back to the kid moments and save most of the processing for phone calls. :)

It is so strange to be here together without my Dad. Staying for the past week in his home has also been emotional, with everything around us pointing so clearly to the one guy who’s not there. How common death is, but how uncommon to say goodbye to *my* Dad! A friend of mine said it well: ‘Death is conquered, but grief is yet our companion while waiting for the Lord and missing those who have gone ahead.’ We do--and will--miss him so much.

I know my Dad just a little bit, and I know that he wouldn’t have wanted too much attention today. He’d want to know that today’s celebration of his life was primarily pointing our thoughts toward heaven, celebrating Christ and the hope He gives. But we girls in his life were never completely compliant, so I want to tell you about my Dad, just a little bit. Can I share a few memories and stories with you?

I remember as a little one when I got into the parts that came with some appliance my Dad was installing and screwed a nut and washer onto every bolt in the bag—so that he had to unscrew each one in order to use it—and I remember Dad making me feel like a million bucks that I’d helped him out. That little moment was formative for me, and now that I have my own 3 year old, I know how much patience that kind of moment can take.

I remember the look in my Dad’s eye when he was proud of me or Deb. He always let us know, and a normally not-too-emotional guy always made it clear how he felt about us.

I have such a strong memory of my Dad faithfully going to work without complaining, insanely early every morning, to pay the bills, provide for us, complete what was expected of him, and probably more. As I got older I got the distinct impression that there were many days he’d be happier doing anything but his job, but he never complained, and never gave up. Only now do I realize that I never had a moment’s insecurity about being taken care of, because my Dad always put us first.

I remember the day Mom, Deb and I were away at a music camp one summer and Mom was informed over a pay phone in a college dorm hallway that Dad had taken a transfer to South Africa. Talk about proof of the strength of their commitment to each other. Dad got teased about that over the years, but we all later realized that his leadership and willingness to jump in resulted in one of the most significant and fun family experiences and set of memories that we have together.

I remember how the things that excited my Dad most were visiting a friend, making a trip to see one of us, opening his home to others, and giving. He was so quick to step up to a need and to care for a friend. He gave of himself eagerly on many levels. We would sometimes learn from sources other than my parents about their lavish generosity and gift of giving…help with house payments, donated cars and computers, and an always-open home…these were just the tip of the iceberg with my Dad.

I remember the first time I read the set of letters that my Dad wrote home to his family during his time in Vietnam in the Army. I quickly realized how little I really knew about him. Just this week I learned another new thing from my Uncle John…that Dad not only saw combat, but was a forward observer who snuck ahead, scouted out targets, helped direct artillery, and whose life was at especially high risk. Learning this opens my eyes and makes me so grateful for the time we had.

I remember how much my Dad loved us and continued to put us first, even during the last few months while he lived with us in Massachusetts, suffering often silently and not wanting to be a burden, as if he could have been. He would thank us for opening our home, but we were just thankful to have him. What a privilege to care for Dad and just be with him.

I remember that my Dad had a hard time being less than 20-30 minutes early for anything, and that he was absolutely, end-of-story, reliable. He picked up my family from the airport in Boston and drove us home less than an hour before his first seizure just a few weeks ago, and somehow it just doesn’t surprise me…I think he was incapable of missing that appointment! (Sort of a joke, sort of not…)

I remember how *tremendously* Dad wanted to be home. The day he originally thought treatment was done and he was headed home…he was suffering that week, but the excitement peeked through. He wanted to golf. He wanted to spend time with his North Carolina family, and wanted to be of service here at Cross Creek. He thought very highly of this place. Thank you for loving him and welcoming him and my mom when they moved to town and for your wonderful support these past weeks. We are so grateful.

I remember how, from the first day of his diagnosis, Dad wanted to move forward boldly, and without pity. He wanted to let everyone know that his life was in God’s hands, and he wanted to live by faith. What a gift to all of us, to have let us know that he had God’s peace, and to have encouraged our own faith in the process. As always, I feel that he provided for us now by how he handled his journey then. I’m so thankful for God’s work in him.

Finally, I remember that my Dad was not perfect, that we frustrated each other plenty, and each made more than our share of mistakes…I don’t mean to paint a strictly rosy life. But by God’s grace in his life, I must say that my Dad always forgave me in the same way he’d been forgiven, and kept on loving through *my* faults…an example I will continue to learn from for a long time to come.